


A Slow Show

by Traincat



Category: Fantastic Four (Comicverse), Marvel 616, Spider-Man (Comicverse)
Genre: Fluff, Huddling For Warmth, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-07
Updated: 2016-05-07
Packaged: 2018-06-04 13:32:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6660139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Traincat/pseuds/Traincat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Johnny Storm got Peter Parker out of his suit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Slow Show

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mizzy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mizzy/gifts).



> I tried to take several of your prompts - huddling for warmth, teenage spideytorch and current spideytorch, Johnny having a thing for Peter in all his suits and, of course, all of the kissing - and make them fit in one fic! I hope you enjoy it! ♥
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> [Part 1 art by Sciderman!](http://sciderman.tumblr.com/post/144152286427/this-fic-is-changing-lives-and-i-couldnt-escape)   
>  [Part 4 art by Becka Liz!](http://beckaliz.tumblr.com/post/146479320386/for-traincat-a-slow-show-im-not-wording-good)   
>  [Part 5 art by Pariah Arts!](http://pariah-arts.tumblr.com/post/146590228450/okay-i-was-trying-to-find-a-link-and-apparently-i)
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> 
> Title from The National's Slow Show.

**1.**

It was freezing.

The cabin was tiny and dark and no matter how they tried they couldn’t get a fire lit in the dusty fireplace. Peter shivered in his snow-soaked costume. Johnny, hovering over his shoulder with his teeth chattering in Peter’s ear, didn’t seem to be holding up a whole lot better.

Life without powers. Peter had almost forgotten how frustrating the world was without his easy strength. He felt clumsy and slow and impossibly weak; it had taken him and Johnny both to break the cabin door in. Luckily he still had his webshooters. He’d webbed the door back up against the blizzard, but that would only hold for an hour.

“Do you have any idea what happened to our powers?” he asked, hands tucked into his armpits. It did nothing to warm his numb fingers. The wind outside howled, sending shivers up Peter’s spine.

 _Play hooky, go on a mountain field trip with a Fantastic Four_ , he thought bitterly. _It’ll be fun!_

Johnny didn’t answer, just stood there in the middle of the room staring down at his own hands. “I’m cold. I forgot how – I forgot how this feels.” He looked up at Peter, eyes huge in his worried face. “I really don’t like this, Spidey.”

“Focus,” Peter told him, maybe a little harsher than he meant, but he didn’t fancy being trapped in a tiny space with Johnny if he was going to freak out on him. “What could’ve caused this?”

Johnny’s mouth twisted as he shrugged. “Power dampener, maybe? Somebody with power-canceling mojo? I don’t know, I’m not Reed.”

If Peter had gotten stuck with Dr. Richards they probably would have figured out a solution already. He said as much and got a nasty glare for the trouble.

“It doesn’t matter,” Johnny said, fumbling with his gloves. He peeled them off and tossed them to the ground. “We need to get out of these wet clothes.”

“Are you out of your mind?” Peter said. “It’s freezing in here!”

“Yeah,” Johnny said, stripping out of the top half of his uniform. He was lanky and pale underneath, the look of someone who’d just had a growth spurt and hadn’t quite grown into it yet. “But if we stay in our wet clothes it’ll be worse. Didn’t you learn anything in Scouts?”

“You were a Scout?” Peter said, laughing. Johnny shot him a look, rolling his eyes.

“Whatever,” he said. The boots and his uniform pants followed his shirt and gloves, but thankfully he kept his underwear on. There were some things Peter didn’t need to see, and what was south of Johnny Storm's skinny hips was high on the list. “Help me look for a blanket or something.”

They found one on the single rickety bed. It was old and moth-eaten and smelled like the worst of Aunt May’s attic, but Johnny dragged it around his shoulders anyway and hunkered down on the ancient mattress.

“Are you just going to stand there?” he asked Peter.

Peter shifted awkwardly. The snow was started to melt; he shivered as icy water dripped down his back.

“We should…” he started, but he didn’t know, actually, what they should do. There was no way they could get through the storm outside without their powers. All they could do was wait and hope.

He felt useless. Cold, wet, and useless. His boots were starting to squelch.

“Come on, dude,” Johnny said, rolling his eyes. “I’m freezing and you’re not helping.”

He held out a corner of the blanket, looking as miserable as Peter felt, and Peter gave in. He shucked his booties first, then his gloves, the top half of his costume and his tights. He couldn’t bring himself to take off the webshooters, and like Johnny he left his underwear on. The mask he didn’t touch.

“Really?” Johnny said as Peter clambered onto the bed, feeling it creak and give beneath them. A spring poked him in the thigh. “You’re going to be like that?”

“The mask stays on,” Peter said, sticking his chin out and crossing his arms over his chest.

“Come on!” Johnny said. “It’s soaked and freezing! Who am I going to tell, anyway?”

“With your big mouth?” Peter said. “Nope. It stays on, and that’s final.”

Johnny scowled; it wasn’t particularly threatening when he was flameless, stripped down to his underwear with melting snow in his hair. “Fine.”

“ _Fine_ ,” Peter echoed, stubborn, and took the bit of blanket Johnny held out to him. It scratched unpleasantly against his skin.

Johnny was shivering, his arms wrapped tight around himself and his chin tucked into his chest. He looked, in a word, pathetic. Like one of those ducks in the Dawn commercials that didn’t know what to do with itself, Peter thought, all fluffy blond hair and hopelessness.

“What?” he said. He flexed his fingers, stiff with cold. The cabin was drafty, and Peter didn't have the energy or the webbing left to seal it completely. He told himself he might need it later.

“I’m _cold_ ,” Johnny said pitifully.

“Join the club,” Peter said.

“You’re supposed to come closer,” Johnny said. “Share body heat.”

Peter blushed under the mask, but Johnny didn’t seem to mean anything by it. He really did look cold, colder than Peter felt, shaking by himself under their sad, old blanket.

Johnny didn’t remember how to be cold, the same way Peter didn’t remember how to be weak.

The first touch of his bare, clammy skin against Johnny’s made him muffle a yelp, jerking back at the cold, but then Johnny leaned against him, a skinny-limbed octopus.

“Better, right?” Johnny said. He shivered a little.

“Don’t make this weird,” Peter told him, bringing the blanket around them both.

“You’re making it weird,” Johnny said, poking Peter in the ribs.

“Am not,” Peter shot back, shifting against Johnny’s lanky body. They were both all elbows and knees and between that and the ancient, scratchy mattress it was hard to get comfortable. Johnny hissed every time the blanket shifted enough to let the freezing air in.

The one blanket wasn’t going to be good enough, Peter knew. He tried to remember everything he’d ever learned about hypothermia, but the details, like his powers, failed him.

They had to keep talking. He knew that much. They couldn’t go to sleep, no matter how tired he felt, no matter how Johnny’s even breathing pulled at his eyelids.

“Hey, Torch,” he said, pinching Johnny’s side. Johnny yelped, raising his head to glare at Peter. “Tell me about the rocket crash.”

“Why do you want to know?” Johnny grumbled. Peter reached up to flick him in the forehead.

“Maybe I just like space,” he said. “Come on, Matchhead. It’s not like we’ve got anything better to do. Tell me about it.”

It took a second, but once Johnny started talking about it – how it had felt to sneak onto the base, what it had been like in space, the _tak-tak-tak_ of the cosmic rays battering the ship, their crash landing – he got animated, cold hands gesturing between them, shaky smile on his face.

Peter traded him when the story ended, telling a very stripped down story of the day the spider bit him. No details, no names, no places but – the feeling, the sharp sting of the bite, the way the whole world had changed for him overnight. How it had felt, the first time he'd swung around the city. High up and free.

“Reed’ll fix it,” Johnny murmured when Peter fell silent. Peter bit his lip; he thought it must be nice to trust anyone the way the Fantastic Four trusted each other.

“You’re warm,” Johnny mumbled, face pressed into the crook of Peter’s shoulder. When had he gotten so close? Peter squirmed, caught between wanting to get away and wanting to get a whole lot closer.

“It’s that radioactive blood,” he said. When Johnny didn’t reply, he curled one tentative hand around the back of his neck and squeezed. “Hey, talk to me, Torch.”

“You should take off the stupid mask,” Johnny mumbled. “Who’s gonna see?”

“You,” Peter said. One downside of the mask: Johnny couldn’t see him roll his eyes at him.

“Don’t you trust me?” Johnny asked, cold nose against Peter’s neck.

“I’d say about as far as I can throw you, but that’s pretty gosh darn far,” Peter said.

“Not right now, though,” Johnny mumbled.

“No,” Peter said, bringing his arms up around Johnny’s shoulders. He tugged the scratchy blanket a little higher. “Not right now. Hey, you gotta talk to me. You wanna hear a joke?”

There was a second’s pause, and then Johnny asked, “Is it going to be stupid?”

“Knock knock,” said Peter by way of answering.

Johnny groaned but obliged: “Who’s there? Is it a real sense of humor?”

“Orange,” Peter said.

Johnny managed to pick his head up to squint at him, pure outrage on his face. Good, Peter thought, relieved. Angry was good. Yelling at him was good. “Seriously?”

“Say it,” Peter said.

“You can’t make me,” Johnny said, glowering. The great thing about the mask, though, was that Peter always won the staring contests. It took about ten seconds before Johnny hung his head and said, “Orange who?”

“Orange you glad I didn’t say banana!” Peter said, then cracked up, even though it was freezing and Johnny was shivering hard against him and there wasn’t anything funny about the situation at all.

“I hate you,” Johnny said.

“The feeling’s mutual,” Peter assured him, burying his masked nose in Johnny’s hair. It tickled through the fabric and he wondered what it would feel like without any barrier between them. Soft, probably. It smelled nice.

Peter was very tired, and very sick of the mask. What would be the real harm in taking it off, he wondered?

Suddenly he wanted Johnny to see his face.

“Torch,” he said, and his voice came out more like a croak.

“Mm?” Johnny mumbled, head a heavy weight on Peter’s shoulder. “What now? Why’d the chicken cross the road?”

Peter fumbled one clumsy hand up to his neck, feeling for where skin met spandex. “Can you look at me for a second? It’s important.”

Johnny stilled, but he didn’t look up. Peter laughed a little to himself, well aware he was on the verge of hysterics, numb fingers gripping the edge of his mask.

“Wait,” Johnny said, leaning away. The blanket slipped off his shoulders and Peter shivered. Johnny’s gaze was faraway. “Wait, I think I – do I feel warm to you?”

Peter’s numb fingers couldn’t feel much of anything, but then he thought about it, the tingling line of Johnny’s body pressed against his, and –

“Oh,” he said. "You are. You're _warm_."

Johnny sucked in a breath, springing away as fast as he could on clumsy feet. Peter watched as he backed up a safe distance, hands held out in front of him. “I think I can – Flame on!”

Fire sprung up, heat flooding their small room with warmth and light and Johnny’s crackling bonfire laughter.

Peter’s fingers slipped from his mask. He tried not to think about how he'd almost taken it off.

“They fixed it,” Johnny said, pumping his fists in the air. Cautiously Peter reached out, touching the wrought iron of the bed frame. It crumpled when he closed his fingers around it and squeezed. Relief bloomed in his chest.

“Guess they did,” Peter said, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and holding his hands out towards Johnny’s blazing warmth.

“Yeah!” Johnny said. He scrambled forward, hands flamed off so he could force the window open, and shot a blast of fire up in the sky. Peter didn’t have to look to know there was a blazing 4 hovering over their location. “Who’s the best superhero in the whole world?!”

“Mr. Fantastic, apparently,” Peter said.

Johnny ignored him, still laughing. His grin was a bright, flickering thing through the flames.

“Hold still, Sparky,” Peter said, collecting their half-frozen costumes from the floor and holding them out to dry near Johnny’s radiant warmth. “I’d rather have pants back on before I see the Thing again.”

 

**2.**

The black costume – the thing Peter thought was his costume - undulated as it melted off him. It felt like the unholy lovechild of an eel and an oil slick, clinging and sticking to his skin like electric brambles. For one mortifying moment he thought he was going to be sick all over Reed’s laboratory floor.

“It’s working!” Reed said, like Peter couldn’t get that from the way the thing scrabbled with sticky tendrils as it slipped off him, like tiny hooks in Peter's skin. “The sonic waves are driving it off Spider-Man’s body! Get ready, Johnny -”

“I read you loud and clear, boss man!” Johnny said. There was a rush of heat from just in front of Peter as finally the last of the thing he’d been swinging around the city in fell away, slipping to the floor and slithering off. “Flame on!”

The alien snaked its way across the floor, spreading out like an ink stain, but Johnny was faster. Flames sprang up out of nowhere, trapping it in a circle.

“Good work!” Reed said. Peter watched from between his fingers as Reed jumped into action, stretching over Johnny’s flame circle to trap the alien. “All I have to do is trap it in this special container, which can later be programmed to duplicate its original alien environment!”

Peter sensed him turning his face towards him, like he expected him to be excited about that, and Peter might have been under ordinary circumstances, but standing cold in his underwear in the middle of Mr. Fantastic’s laboratory, struck dumb by the realization that he'd been wearing an alien like it was couture the last few weeks, was not ordinary circumstances.

“If you say so,” Johnny said. The rush of heat died away as he flamed back off. “Hey, Spidey… why are you hiding your face? You can’t be _that_ ugly.”

Peter cringed, face hot behind his hands.

“Give me a break, Torch!” he said, shrinking away. If Johnny had said it mockingly, that would be one thing – but instead his voice was curious, like he’d spent time wondering what was under Peter’s mask. “You may not have a secret identity, but _I_ do!”

Reed stretched one hand out to rest lightly on his bare shoulder. “Relax, son. I’m certain the Torch can rustle up something for you.”

“Yeah!” Johnny said. His grin was audible. It didn’t make Peter feel much better. He peeked between his fingers again, just in time to catch the cocky edge of Johnny’s grin as he circled him. “Leave everything to me! Hm…”

“That is the least comforting thing you’ve ever said to me,” Peter said as Johnny’s warm palm landed on his back. He led Peter through the lab and, grudgingly, Peter went. He felt a little shaky and sweaty, and he realized suddenly what a long couple of days it had been: Mary Jane and Felicia, that horrible nightmare, the creeping realization that the suit wasn’t what it had seemed.

All of a sudden Peter wanted to go to bed for a week.

“Don’t be like that,” Johnny said. “Have I ever steered you wrong?”

“My spider-sense will tip me off if you try and walk me into a wall,” Peter said.

“Fine, be that way,” Johnny said. They stepped out of the lab and into the hall – the cold clean floor gave way to cushy carpet. Peter scrunched his toes in it, savoring the clean feeling. He bet the FF had an army of those expensive robot vacuums. “Come on. My room’s this way.”

Peter had been around the Baxter Building often enough that he probably could have found Johnny’s room blindfolded and without help, but it was sort of nice, the way Johnny was leading him.

Then Johnny went and ruined it by saying, “You don’t have to keep covering your face, you know.”

“Look,” Peter said, bristling, “I know my secret identity doesn’t mean anything to you, but it means something to _me_ \- and there have been way too many close calls lately. I don’t need you being able to pick me out of a lineup on top of it.”

Mary Jane, telling him she knew he was Spider-Man. Felicia, shimmying through his window in broad daylight. Now Johnny, pushing the issue of Peter’s face again.

“No, that’s not what I –” Johnny broke off with a frustrated noise. He let go of Peter, but not before sticking his index finger in Peter’s chest. Peter kept his hands firmly over his face. “Stay here.”

Peter, standing in his underwear in the hall with his hands clasped firmly over his face, didn’t exactly have much of a choice.

Johnny came back a minute later and pulled something over Peter’s head. Rough paper brushed against the back of Peter’s hands; carefully, he pulled them away from his face, and found that Johnny had cut eyeholes in a paper bag and turned it into a makeshift mask.

“Oh,” he said, touching it. “Torch…”

“I meant I wasn’t going to look,” Johnny said. “That’s what I was going to tell you. But now there’s no chance of that, right?” He sighed, raking his hair back. “Look, I’m not going to lie and say I don’t _want_ to know what you look like under the webs, but if you ever show me, I want it to be because you decided to. Not because Reed and I forced an alien to peel its creepy self off your body.”

“That’s almost sweet,” Peter told him, smile wobbly under his new makeshift mask. “A paper bag, though?”

“Like I’m the first person to want to put a bag over your head,” Johnny said, heading down the hall. He gestured for Peter to follow him. “Come on, I should have an old uniform that will fit you.”

Peter snorted, hot on his heels. By the bedroom, Johnny turned and gave him the once-over approvingly.

“Though I gotta say,” he raised his eyebrows, “I don’t know whether it’s unfair or a crime if you don’t have a face to match that body.”

Peter, face hot, was suddenly very glad for the paper bag.

* * *

Months later, Johnny Storm's wolf whistle cut through both the cold Montauk air and Peter's splitting headache like a hot knife through butter.

"Spider-Man!" he said, beaming, as the Fantasti-car descended. Right in a parking space, too. Peter had to admire Ben's piloting skills as he shifted on the freezing asphalt, biting against his numb toes. "That your new outfit? Very now, very modern - but do you think it's appropriate for crimefighting?" 

"I asked you to bring pants," Peter said to Ben. He'd managed to rescue the mask, but half the costume had been too ripped up to put back on, and the other half had been carried off by the current. Salt water still stung at Peter's eyes. His clothes were buried halfway across the beach in the remains of the shed. "Not the peanut gallery."

"Do I look like I own pants that'll fit you?" Ben asked. His voice was deeper since he'd had his new, even rockier makeover, more resonant. Peter, standing sandy and damp in his underwear in an empty parking lot, felt even more lacking than normal. "Where's Brock at?"

Peter jerked a thumb over his shoulder where he'd dragged Eddie down the beach. He was still unconscious, still coated in drippy alien. Peter felt sick looking at them, remembering Eddie in Aunt May's backyard, helping her hang the laundry. He'd stood so close to her, his big hand almost touching her.

Peter shivered, half from the memory and half from the cold.

Ben started down the beach towards Eddie's prone body, but Johnny lingered a few inches away. Peter could feel the heat of him from here, and he knew it was the chilly weather talking but that didn't stop him from wanting to touch Johnny. Like he could suck up some of that warmth for himself, or maybe absorb some of Johnny's luck. His family could defend themselves against an alien threat. Peter's could not. 

"Nice underwear," Johnny said, grinning. Peter regretted pulling on the red briefs that morning. "Do you always match it to your suit?" 

"What a man wears under his tights is his own business," Peter said. Johnny opened his mouth. "Do not tell me what you're wearing under yours. _Do not_."

"Your loss," Johnny said, shrugging. He tossed him a bag. "Here. Jeans and a sweater."

"Thanks," Peter said, stepping into the pants. "I owe you guys one."

"Eh," Johnny said. "Consider it a freebie."

Ben came back with Eddie slung over his mountainous shoulders like a sack of potatoes. "You okay to keep 'em in check on the flight back, Torch?"

"Sure," Johnny said. "What about you, Webs? You need a ride?"

Peter eyed Eddie and the way the symbiote hung on him like ribbons. "Honestly, I think I'd rather hitch it."  

"Can't blame you there," Ben said. He hoisted Eddie into the car, then climbed into the driver's seat. "Come on, Matchstick."

"He can't get loose again, Ben," Peter said, closing his hands on the rim of the car. "I have family, people I care about - he knows who they are."

It was Johnny, though, who covered Peter's hand with his own gloved one. His touch was warm and gentle, and his face serious. "We'll do our best, Spider-Man. Believe us." 

Peter breathed out. "I want to. Thanks, Torch."

Johnny smiled a little bit. Peter stepped back so they could take off.

"And Spidey?" Johnny called as Ben started the car back up. He was grinning, eyes fixed on Peter's waist - looking down he found he could still see the waistband of his underwear peeking out over the jeans. He shrugged into the sweater hurriedly. "The red's a good look!"

Peter definitely should have worn different underwear. 

 

**3.**

Johnny knocked on Peter’s hospital room door just as he was about to try and make his escape.

“Hey, hero. Where do you think you’re going?”

Johnny was holding flowers. Peter fell back against the pillows with a sigh.

“Hey, Johnny,” he said.

“Don’t stop with the jailbreak on my account,” Johnny said, pulling up a chair next to Peter’s bed. He took off his sunglasses, hanging them on the neckline of his shirt, and raised his eyebrows at the impressive amount of bruises Peter still sported. “You look like hell.”

“Again with the sweet talk,” Peter said. He glanced at the flowers. “Are those for me?”

“No, they’re for the first hot nurse I see,” Johnny said, holding them out. Peter took them carefully. “They’re from Sue and Reed, before you get any ideas.”

Peter heaved a sigh, ignoring the twinge in his ribs.

“When, oh when, will Ben return my affections?” He grinned at Johnny. “Thanks, man. They’re nice.”

“I’ll put them with the others,” Johnny said, taking them back. “How are you feeling?”

“Peachy keen,” Peter said, struggling back up on his elbows. Johnny gave him a sharp look.

“Because you really don’t look like you should be trying to get out of this hospital,” he said, laying a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “C’mon, Pete. City’s fine for a few days. Just take it easy for once, okay?”

Peter laughed, and regretted it pretty instantly. “Trust me, Matchstick – this is not about that. I’m not planning on doing much besides lying immobile and regretting all my life decisions for the next week.”

Johnny pursed his lips, nodding a little. “Okay, so – why can’t you do that here?”

“I’m healing too fast,” Peter admitted, raking his hair back from his forehead. “I’m not Wolverine, but I’m more resilient than I should be, and I’m not going to be able to fake it for much longer. Also? I’d really like to take a real shower back at my place.”

Johnny sighed, heading for the door. He glanced out into the hall and then shut it before he turned back to Peter. “You got clothes here, or is this going to be a very embarrassing escape attempt for you?”

“What?” said Peter, feeling like he’d missed a step. He raised himself back up on his elbows.

“I’m springing you loose,” Johnny said. He snapped his fingers. “So hurry it up before I change my mind.”

Peter grinned, gingerly swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He still felt like he’d been hit by a bus, but that was more or less normal for him by now. He staggered to his feet and Johnny, expression full of naked concern, reached out like he wanted to steady him.

“My clothes are in the bottom drawer,” Peter told him. “Have I told you lately you’re my favorite?”

“I’m already going along with your stupid plan, you don’t have to get on my good side,” Johnny said. He grabbed the bag containing the clothes Peter had dragged himself into the hospital wearing; they were a little bloodstained, but more or less alright. Peter steadied himself as best as he could and, thankful the superhero business had long since cured him of modesty, stripped out of his hospital gown. His fingers still felt stiff and clumsy, and his wrists – the ache around them was a phantom one at this point, he knew, more the memory of Osborn’s manacles than anything else, but knowing that didn’t stop him from feeling it.

“Need any help?” Johnny asked, stepping in to peel the gown away when Peter fumbled.

“Uh, maybe,” Peter said. “Ribs were pretty busted up – I’m having trouble with the whole ‘arms above my head’ concept.”

“So try not to get arrested any time soon,” Johnny said, helping him slip his shirt up over his shoulders. Peter could have done the buttons himself, but Johnny didn’t give him the chance. “I know that’s asking a lot of you.”

“For you, anything,” Peter said. He managed his jeans okay, but the shoes involved a little more bending than he was currently in any shape to do.

He ended up seated on the edge of the bed while Johnny knelt before him, knotting his shoelaces.

“I can’t believe I’m trusting you not to tie them together,” he said, sighing. He felt useless, which was admittedly better than he’d felt in a few days.

Johnny snorted. “Don’t tempt me. You know how bad you look, for me to be this nice?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Peter said, fond and tired. Johnny squeezed his ankle once and then straightened up, holding out his hands. It spoke to how deeply terrible Peter felt that he took them. Johnny’s warm hands were a comfort, though, a welcome distraction from all the worries - _Norman Harry Norman Harry Harry Harry_ \- rattling around in Peter’s head.

“C’mon, up we go,” Johnny said, dragging Peter vertical. “Ugh, you’re heavy.”

“All muscle, baby,” Peter said, throwing in a wink. Johnny snorted.

“Hold on a sec,” he said. He took his own sunglasses and hung them on Peter’s face, tweaking the frame. “There. Now you look like you might actually be able to stay standing.”

Johnny did the talking, throwing around Reed's name liberally, and Peter mostly focused on not listing too far to the side, and before he knew it he was discharged and Johnny was leading him by the elbow to the elevator. Johnny hit the garage level and Peter sagged backwards, resting against the wall.

“You get the number of the bus that hit you?” Johnny asked, sliding him a sideways look. Peter grinned at him, crooked. “What happened to the suit Reed made you, anyway? I thought it was supposed to stop this kind of thing from happening.”

“Parker Proofing, yep,” Peter said, glancing at the ceiling. “Turns out Tony had some notes on the stabilizing of unstable molecules. Might want to let Reed know about that in case our good friend the Iron Patriot decides to take the train to Creepsville, population: him. Mask was good, though. Took a bullet just fine.”

Johnny did a doubletake as the doors dinged open. “What? It took a _what_?”

Peter mimed a gun. “Good ol’ Norman. Shot me point blank. If I hadn’t had Reed’s mask…”

He laughed, even though it really wasn't funny.

“Jesus, Pete,” Johnny breathed. “I didn’t know.”

“Yeah, well, add it to the list,” Peter said. “Which way to the subway again?”

Johnny gaped at him. “I can’t believe you! Shot in the head and ‘where’s the subway’ in the same minute?”

“What can I say? I’m a New Yorker.” Peter shrugged, then bit back on a wince. Not quick enough, if the look on Johnny’s face was any indication.

“You got shot in the head. You were _tortured_ ,” Johnny said, eyes blazing. “I’m driving you home and that’s final.”

“Can I pick the radio station, at least?” Peter asked.

“No,” Johnny said, fishing his keys out of his pocket.

Peter put up a token argument, but the truth was it was a relief to slide into the passenger seat of Johnny’s expensive car. The seats were soft, and the window cool when he put his head down against it. He always forgot what a truly great driver Johnny was – he handled the New York traffic easily, and the ride was almost too short.

"This thing is ridiculous," Peter muttered as the engine revved. "Who owns a car in New York?"

"All the other people with cars on the road around us?" Johnny said. 

"The cost of parking, for starters," Peter mumbled, eyes closed. "Watch out for that taxi."

"That taxi should watch out for me," Johnny grumbled. "I have a garage."

"Spoiled," Peter said, smiling a little. Johnny snorted.

"Yeah, Pete," he said. "Because the state of your face is really selling the spartan lifestyle." 

Johnny got him up to his apartment and then manhandled him down on the sofa. Peter fell back against the couch with a groan, hand over his eyes.

“Home, sweet home,” he said to himself. He was beyond relieved that his roommate Michele was away for the week. The last thing he needed was a cop's suspicious sister wondering why Peter was down for the count, or why the Human Torch had brought him home and was now looking at their apartment like he wanted to burn it down. “Finally.”

“Give me your keys,” Johnny said, holding out his hand.

“Um, why?” Peter asked. He tossed them towards Johnny’s outstretched palm. Johnny caught them easily, pocketing them.

“You need some stuff,” Johnny said, already halfway out the door. “Just stay there and try not to fight anything. I’ll be back.”

Peter contemplated sticking his tongue out at the slammed door, but everything ached too much. He closed his eyes and settled down among the familiar lumps and bumps of his couch, the sound of the city a distant comfort.

He woke up groggy a few hours later to noise in his kitchenette, and for a second he couldn’t figure out why his spider-sense hadn’t gone off. Then he remembered: Johnny had taken him home, stolen his keys, and promised to be back.

“Torch?” he called, voice scratchy. “S’that you?”

“Hey, Sleeping Beauty’s up,” Johnny said, rounding the corner. He’d stripped out of his jacket, leaving him only in a soft t-shirt and tight jeans, and he was wiping his hands off on a dish towel Peter hadn’t known he owned. “How’re you feeling? Because you look like –”

“Yeah, thanks, I got it the first time around,” Peter said, pressing a hand to his head.

Johnny disappeared back into the kitchen and came back with a glass of water and a bottle of pills, which he thunked down on the coffee table in front of Peter.

“Reed’s messing around with a new painkiller,” Johnny said, gesturing to the bottle. “It probably won’t make you grow extra arms or turn you weird colors.”

“Right now that’s a chance I’m willing to take,” Peter said, shaking two into his hand and dry swallowing them. “Thanks, Johnny.”

“No problem,” Johnny said.

“What are you doing?” Peter asked, sipping at his water. “Not that I’m getting my security deposit back anyway, but I do kind of need to know if anything’s on fire…”

“Relax,” Johnny said. He grabbed the remote off the coffee table and switched Peter’s ancient TV on. “I’m a great cook.”

“You’re cooking?” Peter said, eyebrows shooting up.

“Chicken soup,” Johnny said, heading back to the kitchen. “You’ll feel better.”

That startled a laugh out of Peter. The whole situation was so absurd, him trapped on his couch while the Human Torch tried to make him chicken soup in his tiny apartment kitchenette. “I got on Norman Osborn’s bad side, Johnny, I don’t have a cold. Soup’s not going to help.”

“Maybe you just haven’t had my soup!” Johnny called back. Peter sighed, giving up. It was too easy to put his head back down on the cushions and tune out the blissful sound of Antiques Roadshow.

He blinked back awake when Johnny came back into the room. He pulled himself up so he was leaning against the arm of the couch and held his hands out when Johnny offered him a bowl, trusting that it wouldn’t be too hot to touch.

“Thanks,” he said. “Sure you’re not trying to finish me off?”

“There are easier ways to do that than making soup from scratch,” Johnny said, sitting down on the floor in front of the couch. “It’s what I make for the kids, okay? Minus the alphabet noodles.”

“So what’s the deal, Torch?” Peter asked, cupping the warm bowl in his hands. “Not that I’m not enjoying it, but this whole mother hen act… it’s not exactly what I expect from you.”

Johnny was quiet for a long moment, and Peter had just about given up on getting an answer when he finally spoke. “I feel like I just got you back, you know? And now you’re telling me that you could’ve-”

“But I didn’t,” Peter cut him off. He didn’t want to think about, either. The gunshot. Bullseye. Norman’s armored hand cupped to his chin, the cruel grip of his fingers as he peeled his mask back, taunting Peter, threatening his family. He wanted to close his eyes and forget about it all, just for the moment. His jaw ached. “And what do you mean, got me back? I didn’t go anywhere.”

“You kind of did,” Johnny said, shrugging. “When you made it so I – we didn’t know your name or your face anymore.”

Peter pushed his spoon around in the bowl. “That’s not the same thing as going away, though. I was still right there. You still saw me.”

Johnny shifted, turning towards him and laying his crossed arms on Peter’s knees. “You don’t really believe that, do you? It changed everything. Sure, you were my friend Spider-Man, and if I saw you out swinging I could fly over, we’d trade insults, maybe find something to hit, maybe go out and I could watch you try not to get pizza stains on your mask but… I couldn’t text you just because. If we passed each other on the street, you’d know it was me and maybe I’d recognize Peter Parker, former photographer and professional pain in the ass…”

Peter snorted. “Okay, okay, so it was different. I get it.”

“I don’t think you actually do,” Johnny said, frowning. “I just – I missed you. _You_ you. And then you went and got yourself tortured by Norman Osborn’s goon squad. So I think I’m allowed to worry about you now.”

Love, Norman had said with a disdainful sneer. Love had led Harry to the tower, looking for Lily. Love had sent Peter chasing after him, desperate to keep him safe. And now love had brought Johnny here, to Peter’s apartment, to ply him with homemade soup and daytime TV even when there was a world of better, more exciting options out there.

Peter smiled down at the bowl in his lap. “Okay, okay. You _are_ a good cook, by the way.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Johnny snorted, turning his attention back to the TV.

”I thought you were still mad about the identity thing,” Peter said, yawning.

“Oh, beyond words,” Johnny said. “But you’re family, and you need me right now, so I’m being the bigger person and letting it go.” He sighed as he got up and took Peter’s empty bowl from him. “Besides… you always have some brave, brilliant reason for all the stupid things you do. I know you thought you were doing it for us.”

“People get hurt,” Peter said, sliding back down on the couch. He closed his eyes, listening to Johnny’s even footfalls across his squeaky floors.

“Yeah,” Johnny snorted. “You, mostly.”

Peter couldn’t really argue with that one.

 

**4.**

“Well, don’t you clean up nice.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Peter said, standing back and letting Johnny tug at his lapels and adjust his tie until he was satisfied. “Laugh it up.”

“Who’s laughing?” Johnny asked. “I’m being serious. You look good.”

“Well, great, because I feel like hell,” Peter said. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror over Johnny’s shoulder, though, and he couldn’t find it in himself to argue: the suit did look good, sleek and black.

Johnny was gorgeous as always in navy blue, his hair slicked back and his expression the bright-eyed and bushy-tailed look of someone who hadn’t been trying to stop an international conspiracy for the past twelve hours, only to have their friendly neighborhood helper robot try and murder them.

Thursdays, Peter thought wryly, rotating his aching shoulder. He could cope, though, as long as he didn’t think too hard about it, and that was easy with Johnny preening beside him, warm fingers tucked into the crook of Peter’s arm. He squeezed, shooting Peter a conspiratorial grin.

“Come on,” he said, spark in his eye. “Let’s show everyone what they were missing all these years.”

* * *

 

The gala got attacked, of course. Peter had long ago stopped being surprised, but the exasperation – he was pretty sure that was never going to go away.

At least this time he had fun things, like the new and improved (“Improved,” Johnny snorted. “Sure, and Ben’s People’s Sexiest Man.”) spider-mobile. Peter had discovered being shot at was a lot more tolerable when there was bullet proof glass and a whole lot of steel between you and the shooter. Go figure.

Afterwards, he and Johnny stayed in the car. He didn’t know why. It was quiet, maybe, which was an odd thing to think about any small space occupied by him and Johnny – but it was. It felt different from the real world, where everyone wanted a million things from him. Where he wanted a million things from himself.

In the car with Johnny, he could pretend that the world was still simple.

“This is roomy,” Johnny said, leaning back in the passenger seat. “I still hate it. And you still can’t drive.”

“I passed the test!” Peter said. “I know what all the different dealies do!”

“And yet,” Johnny said, gesturing, “you are still completely terrible. Also – dealies?”

Johnny had lost his jacket somewhere in the middle of the fight, leaving him in his dress shirt and absurdly well-fitted pants. He was going to drive Peter crazy, provided the world didn’t beat him to it first.

It was the breakup with Lian talking, he told himself, conveniently ignoring the fact that his newly single status didn’t explain that annoying occasional urge to light Johnny’s fire – so to speak – over the past few years.

“Where’d you lose that tux, anyway?” Johnny asked, casting a critical eye over Peter’s spider-suit. “It was nice. It’s under rubble now, isn’t it?”

Peter smirked and let his costume change back into the tux from before. Johnny’s eyes went wide.

“A lot’s changed, Torch,” Peter said, grinning. The tux melted back into his usual red and blues, but he kept the mask off. He didn’t know why. Maybe he just wanted Johnny to see his face.

“How does it work?” Johnny asked, touching careful fingertips to the spider insignia. “Can it be anything?”

“The man who runs around in an unstable molecule suit wants to know how mine works,” Peter huffed. Johnny’s touch was so warm through the suit; Peter had expected him to pull back, but instead he lingered. “I, uh, I actually did get the idea from Reed.”

“You mean I could have been wearing one layer all these years?” Johnny asked, eyebrows arched.

Peter laughed, letting the suit’s red and blue shift into the white and black he’d worn when he was with the Future Foundation. He held his arms out obligingly. “Reed’s suits were programmed with a bunch of presets – my usual duds, the white and black variants of the FF suits, but you could change details if you wanted. I just… adjusted it a little.”

Like the flick of a switch, the Future Foundation suit melted into a plain black shirt and black pants.

“Well, Reed never was worried about the quick change,” Johnny said, trailing his fingers over Peter’s shoulder, down his arm. His fingertips danced feather light across Peter’s wrist, up to his hand. He tapped one finger against the center of Peter’s palm. “I know I don’t tell you this a lot, but you’re amazing, you know that?”

His expression had gone soft in the dark, and he was disheveled from the fight. One lock of hair hung over his forehead, and before Peter realized what he was doing he’d reached up to brush it back. Johnny caught his hand by the wrist before he could pull away.

“Really amazing,” he repeated. He wet his lips. “Pete? I need you to be the smart guy again and tell me if this is a mistake.”

He leaned in, closing the narrow gap between them. The first touch of his warm lips was like a jolt and Peter sat there, frozen, while Johnny kissed him softly, like he was afraid to startle him.

He pulled back, face resigned. “Yeah. Thought so.”

“Oh no,” Peter said, surging forward. Johnny made a surprised noise, arms winding around Peter’s neck as Peter kissed him hard. He pulled back, knocking their foreheads together. “You don’t get to make that face, Torch… Johnny. You have to let people be surprised when you kiss them out of nowhere.”

“Was it really out nowhere?” Johnny asked, laughing. The second kiss had been clumsy, but all that melted away as Johnny leaned forward to meet him, eyes falling shut. “Because see, I think this has been coming for a long time.”

Peter sighed, leaning their foreheads together. “Johnny-”

“Right here,” Johnny said, breath warm against Peter’s cheek. Their noses bumped. Peter’s hands slipped from Johnny’s shoulders down his hard chest, just touching. He felt like he’d never be able to stop just touching Johnny. Johnny shivered a little, laying his hand over Peter’s wrist. “Tell me what you want, Pete.”

A hundred jokes sprang to mind, but Peter chose - just this once - to tell Johnny the honest truth: “You.”

Johnny smiled.

“Well hey, that’s lucky,” he said, sliding into Peter’s lap and pressing him back against the seat. His knees settled on either side of Peter’s hips. The roomy spider-mobile suddenly felt much too small. Peter fumbled with the side of his seat, silently thanked the spirit of human engineering for seats that reclined all the way. “You got me.”

“Think it might be the other way around,” Peter said, before his whole world narrowed to just Johnny, soft lips and clever tongue and the scrape of his five o’clock shadow. The faded scent of his expensive cologne. Peter didn’t know how he was ever going to get over this one.

“Hey,” Johnny said, mouth slick and hot against Peter’s. He spread his hands across Peter’s chest. “Off.”

Peter groaned. “If only. I need to build that into the new version – my hot, uh.” He’d been about to say boyfriend, but he didn’t know if that was what this was. If that was something Johnny wanted. “My hot you –”

“Your hot me?” Johnny repeated, snickering. He ground down against Peter’s lap, his open dress shirt slipping off one shoulder.

“It’s a temperature thing, don’t let it go to your head,” Peter said. “Anyway, version two – my hot you says off, the suit’s gone.”

Johnny laughed, ducking his head to kiss Peter again. Peter worked his shirt the rest of the way off, tossing it towards the backseat. “You sure you want to do that? Because you’re going to have a press conference and I’m going to get bored. Next thing you know, naked.”

“But it’ll be a good show, right?” Peter asked him, breathless, as they broke apart just enough they could fumble the top half of Peter’s suit off.

“Yeah, Pete,” Johnny said. His grin was luminous in the dark and all Peter could do in that moment was hold onto him and think, _please, please, let me have this. Let me have him, for as long as he wants me._ “It’ll be the best show.”

 

**5.**

“You’re getting too old for this,” Johnny said, standing with his arms crossed and a disparaging look on his face as Peter limped – he liked to think triumphantly - into their bedroom.

“What does that make you?” Peter asked, pulling the mask off and grinning despite the way it pulled at his fun new split lip.

“Shut up, that’s what,” Johnny said. He felt for the seam of Peter’s costume, helping him strip the top half of it off. He hissed; Peter knew he was all bruises down one side.

“It looks worse than it is,” he assured Johnny.

“Always does,” Johnny replied, but he didn’t look happy about it. Peter could see the same old argument brewing on the horizon, but he was too tired for it tonight.

“The New Avengers –” the New New New Avengers, he joked in his head, remembering a time when _he_ had been a New Avenger, “- they’re just kids, Matchhead. They needed a little help, that’s all.”

“I worry about you,” Johnny said, hands at Peter’s waist, stroking the line between skin and spandex. “You’ve been pushing yourself too hard, ever since Harry –”

“Johnny,” Peter said softly. “Don't. Please.”

Johnny nodded unhappily, leaning his forehead against Peter’s. “I just worry about you. That’s all. You’re not as young as you used to be, which is something I’m going to keep repeating until you get it through your thick skull, thanks.”

“Alright, so I’m no spring chicken anymore,” Peter said, switching tactics. He grabbed Johnny up around the waist and wrestled him down on the bed, pinning his hands easily above his head. Johnny burst out laughing, his head tilted back as he put up a cursory fight. Peter grunted when Johnny’s knee met his side. “I can still give you a run for your money.”

“Yeah, right, Mr. Parker,” Johnny said, leaning up to meet him halfway with a kiss.

“Mr. Storm,” Peter returned, trailing his lips down Johnny’s jaw.

“You’re going to give me beard burn,” Johnny said, but he was smiling.

“You love it,” Peter said. For one long moment he was content to just kiss Johnny, to enjoy the hot hard press of Johnny’s body against his, and then the gravel in his left boot made itself known again. He rolled off Johnny, onto his back, and silently thanked the universe for one hell of a mattress. “Help me take off my booties?”

Johnny rolled onto his side and stared down at him, deeply unimpressed. Then he sighed, leveraging himself up and crawling to the end of the bed. Peter watched the show. “You know, they told me marriage would be like this. One second it’s all roses and weekends in Paris, the next he’s asking you to take off his booties.”

“That new lilac Hulk fell on me,” Peter said. Johnny glared at him over his shoulder. “Also, I love you?”

Johnny grumbled something doubtlessly deeply insulting under his breath, peeling off Peter’s boots. He pressed his thumb hard against Peter’s insole and Peter hissed, closing his eyes.

“I must have done something right,” he said, throwing his arm over his eyes, “to end up with your and your healing hands.”

“Sure, take all the credit,” Johnny said, but he cranked up his temperature obligingly. “Any other kinks you need worked out?”

“Kinks?” Peter said. “Sure. Let’s start with the fact that bonfires turn me on now. I’ll never be able to enjoy a nice beach evening ever again. Not to mention fireworks...”

“You’re incorrigible,” Johnny said, leaning over him again.

“Spell it,” Peter dared him.

“Nah,” Johnny said, kissing the corner of his mouth, his chin, the edge of his beard. He was trying to take Peter’s mind off things, he knew – the disaster that was the New Avengers, the trouble with Harry, the recent multiverse trip that had left Cindy so shaken.

It was working, too. It wouldn’t for long, but just for the moment – for the moment, Johnny was warm like sunlight even on this rainy night, and he was here and Peter loved him. It was enough.

“You’ve got to put clothes on,” Johnny said, though he notably did not stop kissing him in between the words.

“That’s a sentence you’ve never said to me before,” Peter said, arms around Johnny’s neck. “Pray tell, why?”

“Ben’s bachelor party,” Johnny said. “Attempt the third.”

Peter remembered attempt the first – one beer, a dispute with Gorgon, and Mary Jane making him promise never to book her club for a party ever again – and attempt the second – the Mole Man. ‘Nuff said. He groaned. “Oy.”

“Yep,” Johnny agreed, grinning against his mouth. “Come on, real clothes. Can’t let Ben put us to shame.”

“Mmf,” Peter said. For someone who kept telling him to go put clothes on, Johnny’s actions certainly didn’t back up his words. His hands wandered, swooping down Peter’s sides, long fingers dipping under the waistband of his tights. He grabbed Johnny by the wrists, holding him still. “Okay, okay. I need a shower. A cold one.”

“Or you can make it hot, and I could join you,” Johnny said, waggling his eyebrows. Peter sighed, grinning, as he released his grip on Johnny’s hands.

“We’ll be late,” he said, lifting his hips so Johnny could peel his tights off.

“Ben will forgive us,” Johnny said. “He always does, right?”

“Sure he will,” Peter said, laughing a little. “What was that about us not being as young and nubile as we used to be, again?”

“Only where it counts,” Johnny promised, winking.

**Author's Note:**

> Some canon notes:  
> Part 1 takes place early on in their adventures, when they're both still high schoolers.  
> Part 2, Scene 1 takes place during Amazing Spider-Man #258 - most of the dialogue at the beginning is lifted straight from the issue. Scene 2 is set immediately after Amazing Spider-Man #317.  
> Part 3 takes place post-Amazing Spider-Man #599 and the American Son story.  
> Part 4 takes place in current All New, All Different canon  
> Part 5 is, of course, future!fic! Just sayin', Marvel. Peter's beard was inspired by the one he sports in the MC2 universe.


End file.
